


A Little Magic

by can_i_slytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Claudia Stilinski Memories, Demons, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evolved Derek Hale, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Violence, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, Talia Hale & Claudia Stilinski Friendship, The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/can_i_slytherin/pseuds/can_i_slytherin
Summary: A little magic can take you a long way- Roald Dahl*The latest supernatural being has come to traumatise the residents of Beacon Hills, leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. It's up to Stiles to figure out what it is and how to stop it, before anyone else gets hurt.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & The Pack
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. Chpt 1

_She kicked out with her feet, chest rising and falling with panicked breaths, and tried her best to scramble away. She didn’t get far before she was dragged backwards by an invisible force._

_“Escaping is futile,” a voice hissed, deep and demonic, overlaid with a frequency that made her ears ring._

_“Please, don’t. I’ll give you whatever you want, please just don’t kill me,” she pleaded._

_“I’m not going to kill you,” the voice snarled, “I just want to play.”_

_A claw-fingered hand came into her view and she screamed, crying and begging for it to stop. But, it sliced the fabric of her shirt open, leaving a deep gash in her abdomen, blood pooling in her navel._

  
  


Stiles awoke with a gasp, sweat soaking his sleep shirt, and remnants of fear clung to him, making his heart hammer and his stomach churn. His hands shook the most, but he could feel every muscle quivering with the amount of magic he’d just used. 

He pushed himself up into a seated position, leaning back against the headboard for support, and ducked his head between his knees, locking his hands behind his neck. The nausea washed over him in waves, leaving him struggling to break the surface and draw in a breath. 

Suddenly, there was a hand at his back, rubbing circles into his spine to soothe him. “Here, drink.” 

A bottle of apple juice was thrust into his hands, the cap already taken off, and he lifted his head, feeling weak and shaky, to take a short sip. It was cold, thick and sweet on his tongue, soothing his fever and shakes. He kept taking short gulps, in between breathing deeply, and soon found himself feeling much better and calmer. 

“Thanks,” Stiles rasped out, leaning heavily against his father’s shoulder. 

Noah sighed deeply and scritched Stiles’ scalp. “Your mom was the same when she used a lot of magic.” 

Claudia was a force to be reckoned with when she was at full strength. A powerful witch, with centuries of generational magic flowing through her veins, and that power was passed on to Stiles when she died. At first, Noah wasn’t sure how he would deal with Stiles coming into his magic, not after Claudia died, but it was easier than he thought- especially with Deaton still hanging around. He taught Stiles everything that Noah couldn’t and it was nice to have someone to help wrangle an out of control nine-year-old doing accidental magic whenever his emotions got the better of him. 

When Stiles fully came into his magic, at seventeen, Noah had never been prouder. His eyes burnt with the same fierce light and he was every bit his mother’s son, even without her power coursing through his veins. Watching him protect the innocent and save the worthy brought back memories of Claudia that Noah had thought that he had forgotten. He found that looking after Stiles, and his magic, was just as easy as it had been when he was looking after his wife. 

Stiles was grateful to have his dad at his side, guiding and calming him when he needed it, looking out for him when no one else could, or would. Whether it was because they didn’t understand, because they were scared of him, or because they were busy with other things, Stiles knew that his dad would always be there, for as long as he could. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Noah asked, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the silence too much. 

“I think I was Scrying or Dream Walking, I don’t know. I just saw this girl being attacked and this clawed hand,” Stiles whispered, fear creeping into his voice again. 

Noah’s hand tightened briefly on the back of Stiles’ neck, soothing him. “Clawed how? Like a wolf?” 

Stiles shook his head, breathing fast, and screwed his eyes shut. “Like-” he cut himself off with a gasp for breath, a flash of the dream darting across his mind, and shuddered. “Like nothing that I’ve ever seen before.” 

Noah went silent for a moment, stuck in his thoughts, but soon spoke up again, squeezing his son’s neck in comfort. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “But, for now, try to get some sleep.” 

He nodded and settled again, leaning his head back against his pillow and breathing, long, deep breaths. “Night, dad,” Stiles froze when he went to leave and Noah stopped on the threshold, turning back to face him. 

“Are you okay?” 

He chewed softly on his bottom lip and pulled his covers up to his chin, doe eyes wide with child-like fear. “Will you light my candle? The blue one? With the protection runes?”

Noah smiled softly and nodded, fishing the matches from the book case before lighting the required candle. “You’re safe, Stiles. Get some sleep.” 

Stiles nodded, feeling much more at ease, but activated the wards around the Stilinski home, just in case. He could feel his dad sitting outside his room, like a guard dog, and fondly rolled his eyes. 

“Go get some sleep too, dad!” He yelled through the door. “I’ll be fine.” 

Noah made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t move and Stiles would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him feel safer and more protected. 

He focused on his dad’s energy, the radiation of _protection and love and safety,_ and drifted to sleep, allowing those feelings to surround him and ground him to the mortal realm. 

  
  
  
  


Wandering through the corridors of Beacon Hills High School the next morning felt like hell on earth. Stiles was exhausted. Whilst he didn’t have any more dreams, he didn’t sleep well, the worry and fear of his dream walk last night still clinging to his subconscious, keeping him from sleeping deeply. However, his magic was still trying to restore itself, drawing on the little energy that he had to replenish itself. He was lucky that it was a waning crescent moon that evening, the best time for restoration and recovery. 

He made a mental plan for that evening: when the moon rose to its highest peak, he’d sit underneath it, bask in its light and allow its celestial pull to restore what he had lost, drawing on its strength to let him recover. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until Jackson barged past, shoving him back against the locker and laughing that smug asshole laugh. “Watch where you’re going, Stilinski!”

Stiles snarled, eyes aglow, and red tendrils of energy curled around Jackson’s throat, slamming him against the lockers behind him. Anger and frustration burned through his veins, his chest heaving and hands shaking with the force of the emotion. 

He was distantly glad that there was no one else in the corridor at that moment. 

“You might be a wolf now and finally have ‘what you want’,” he drew closer, closing his fist and grinning when the red coil tightened, leaving Jackson gasping for breath, “but do not cross me, Whittmore. Not today.” 

Jackson's eyes flashed blue, in an attempt to threaten Stiles, but he just bared his teeth in response, eyes glowing dangerously. 

Suddenly, there was a hand at Stiles’ shoulder and the anger dissipated as he blinked back into control, reigning in his magic and releasing his hold on Jackson’s throat. “What?” 

“Get out of here,” Scott hissed at Jackson, eyes flashing gold, and the other Beta scoffed before shrugging his shoulders and walking away. “Are you okay?” Scott was behind him, brow furrowed in concern. 

Stiles shook his head and tipped forward to rest against the lockers. “I’m so tired.” 

“Is this a witch thing?” He asked, keeping his voice low. 

Stiles shuddered. “warlock,” he corrected, “but yes.” 

The Beta made a noise of sympathy. “Is there anything that I can do?”

Stiles shook his head and stifled a yawn. “Just get me through the day, so that I can recover tonight.”

Scott nodded and guided him towards their first class of the day, hoping that his best friend would be okay. 

  
  
  
  


Stiles’ vision grew blurry and black around the edges, tunneling inwards, and he stumbled forward a few steps, grabbing onto the door frame to steady himself. He got a sense of vertigo rush over him, leaving him dizzy, and felt a tell-tale tug behind his eyes before he was transported elsewhere and his body went limp. 

If it wasn’t for Scott’s wolf reflexes, he would have tumbled down the steps outside the school. 

“Shit!” Scott lowered himself and Stiles onto the floor, keeping Stiles’ back against his chest and his head propped up. 

“Derek,” the warlock whimpered, barely audible to human hearing, but heard perfectly by Scott’s enhanced hearing. “Derek.” 

“Shit, yeah,” he fumbled inside his pocket for his phone and scrambled to find Derek’s contact. 

Scott punched the little phone icon and the dial tone started up before it connected, ringing and ringing and _ringing_ with no sign of the Alpha picking up. 

“Now is not the time to be unavailable, _Derek_ ,” he hissed as he was greeted by his voicemail and hung up the phone before trying again. 

Voicemail, again. 

He went to dial the number again, but before he could, Derek appeared in front of him. 

“I’ve been trying to call you for the past five minutes!” Scott yelled, worry lacing his tone and not caring that he was yelling at an Alpha. “What were you doing?!” 

Derek was shirtless and shoeless and attracting a lot of attention, but he was here- _finally-_ and he would know what to do. 

“I heard something, a call of some kind to the wolf. I knew that it wasn’t good, so I got in the car and drove. I left my phone, I knew this was more important.”

Scott thought back to Stiles calling Derek’s name and wondered if that was him trying to reach out to the Alpha, to warn him that something was wrong. He tried to shove back the worry that clawed at his throat, he was here now, so Stiles was safe and he’d be looked after. He would know how to help. 

“Help me get him in the car?” 

Derek nodded his agreement and slipped one arm under Stiles’ knees whilst the other cradled the back of his head. The warlock made a noise of content and wormed closer to him. He bit his tongue, hard, to repress the feeling of affection and warmth that flooded through him and motioned for Scott to open the back door of the Camaro. 

He laid Stiles down carefully on the seat and left a lingering touch behind his knee, hoping that he would feel the comforting gesture despite his unconsciousness. He closed the door softly, brow furrowed in concern as he ground his teeth, and climbed into the driver’s seat. He waited for Scott to get in the passenger side before tearing out of the car park, hands tight around the steering wheel. 

“What happened?” Derek demanded, staring determinedly at the road ahead. 

Scott cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. “I don’t know. He came into school this morning, nearly choked out Jackson and didn’t give me any more information other than _it was a warlock thing_. He’s been tired all day and I’ve been doing my best to keep him awake, as per his orders. But, coming out of school this afternoon, he looked really pale and then just passed out.” 

Derek gave a contemplative hum. “It sounds like he’s used too much magic,” he said. “It’s his store trying to replenish itself, but he doesn’t have enough energy. Call Deaton, tell him to meet us at the loft.” 

“The loft, shouldn’t we take him-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence because Derek let out a warning growl, all deep and protective Alpha. “The loft, okay,” Scott said placatingly.

  
  
  
  


_The table she was laid on was metal and rusted, but the ceiling above her was brick, blackened with age and crumbling, but functional. There was a lightbulb in the corner of the room by the door, yellow and dim, but giving enough light that she could still see her surroundings._

_“Good,” it was the same voice from before, the one that she had heard in the forest, when she’d been taken, and a spike of fear pierced her heart, “you’re awake.”_

_She couldn’t talk around the gag in her mouth and thrashed against her bindings, sweat and tears and grime clinging to her skin. She tried to beg him to stop, to let her go, but the words couldn’t be heard around the fabric in her mouth._

_“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” the voice said. “I’ve been trapped for so long, but I’m finally free to do as I please and there’s so much that I want to do.”_

_She screamed, loud and raw, when a burning pain spread through her thighs and screamed even louder, if that were possible, when she looked at her legs, the flesh burning away as flames danced across her skin._

  
  


The sounds all bled into one, people calling his name, the buzzing of energy around him. Scott and Deaton were close, crouching near, trying to wake him, but he didn’t want to. It was quiet in the darkness, quiet and still. 

The nothingness, which should have been scary, was comforting. It was serene. Nothing could hurt him here. Nothing could threaten him. 

But, then, a warm light crept closer, hesitant at first but growing more confident with every step. It reminded Stiles of a summer day, warm and happy and content. Stiles reached out for it, letting the light fill him, chasing the darkness and chill away. It enveloped his entire soul, holding him tight and drawing him back to the correct realm.

“Come back to me, Stiles." 

_Derek._

His voice had a cadence to it, an odd cocktail of worry and relief and urgence. Stiles didn’t know that Derek _could_ worry. His lips formed the shape of the Alpha’s name, silently calling to him as he swam back into consciousness. 

He felt groggy, like his head had been dunked in a bowl of jello, and the numbness that had spread through him began to dissipate, starting at his toes and creeping up his legs into his torso. 

“Stiles, wake up,” Derek snapped, the softness and worry from earlier replaced by exasperation, and Stiles felt a swell of affection. There's the Sourwolf that he knew. 

He slowly blinked his eyes open. He was on his back, there was a large skylight above him, letting in as much natural light as possible and bathing the loft in the warm, orange light of the setting sun. 

Stiles made the motion to talk, but Derek shushed him. “Don’t speak.” 

He gave the Alpha an unimpressed look, wanting to quip back at him, but Deaton stepped in before he could. “Your magical stores have been significantly depleted, Stiles,” he explained in that familiar soft tone. “You’ve been using a lot of magic,” Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Deaton silenced him with a look. “I know you haven’t been meaning to, but you need to restore and recover before you can do anything else. If you don’t, you will burn yourself out.” 

Stiles nodded, feeling like a naughty school child, and sunk back against the surprisingly comfy sofa. 

Deaton turned to Scott with a searching look. “I need your help,” he said. “We need to get some things for Stiles, to help him with his replenishment tonight.” 

“But-" Scott tried to protest, wanting to be there for his best friend; to help him recover. 

"No, buts," Deaton replied. "Stiles is in the safest place that he can be at the moment," at Scott's confused look, he rolled his eyes. "He's with an _Alpha,_ Scott. He'll be fine." 

_Yeah, Scott,_ Stiles thought, _everyone is afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf. Or Sourwolf, in our case._

Scott left, albeit reluctantly, and Derek waited until they were both out of earshot before he spoke. “Are you okay?” 

Stiles flashed him an award-winning smile and nodded. “Good, don’t do that again, you scared Scott half to death.” 

The ‘ _and, me’_ went unspoken, but Stiles still heard it. His magic had called out to the Alpha, he’d heard that too. In a moment of fear and unease, he needed Derek and he came. 

  
  
  
  


When Deaton and Scott came back, it was with a small bag of goodies for Stiles. The warlock grinned and made grabby hands, wiggling excitedly when Scott launched the bag into his lap. 

“He needs to be set up somewhere in direct moonlight,” Deaton said and Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, pointing above their heads to the skylight that took up most of the ceiling. “Well, I suppose that works.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and slipped off the sofa and onto the floor, crawling into the direct centre before crossing his legs. He emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor in front of him and sifted through them until they were organised correctly. 

The marble pestle and mortar took centre stage, pristine white and gleaming in the evening light. There were three jars, each labelled with the contents, and Stiles dug through them, collecting the right amount of ingredients; a dash of ground peace lily, a sprinkle of Queen Bee Pollen and a sprig of Panax Ginseng. He ground the ingredients up into a fine powder, whispering a short binding incantation over them as he did, and smiled as they began to fuse together. 

As he mixed and ground and combined, Stiles reached up blindly and snatched Derek’s hand, tugging him closer. He grabbed the pin from the floor and pricked the edge of his finger, lifting the mortar to catch the drops of blood. 

“Stiles, what the hell?!” The Alpha yelled indignantly, tearing his wrist away from Stiles’ grip and shaking out his hand as his finger began to heal. 

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly and shot Derek a cheeky grin before turning back to his potion. He grabbed the clear quartz from the floor and held it tight in his palm, chanting a Polish Energy Ritual as he did.

“ _On the night of a waning crescent, with the moon at its peak, I call on her powers of restoration to replenish what was taken._ ” 

He continued chanting, keeping one eye on the skylight and the other on the mortar cradled in his hand. When the moon hit its highest peak, Stiles held the herb-flower concoction up in the air and the moonlight hit it just right, setting the powder ablaze. A bright blue light filled the room, chasing away any negativity and darkness, and Stiles’ voice could barely be heard over the crackling of energy. 

Lightning strikes reached out towards Derek and Scott, the Alpha feeling a tug deep in his chest and he gasped at the all-encompassing feeling of Stiles as his magic caressed his soul, the wolf purring its approval too. 

Stiles’ eyes were glowing white, laced with a blue hue, like the moon herself, and the power that irradiated from him was something beautiful. Scary, but beautiful. 

The warlock lifted the mortar to his lips and blew out the flame, inhaling the smoke that was left behind. The walls of the loft shuddered and Stiles went with it, back arching and a choked-off groan tumbling from his lips. 

“Stiles?!” Scott yelled, fear bleeding into his voice and Derek punched him in the ribs, holding an urgent finger to his lips. 

Stiles’ eyes rolled into the back of his head and the mortar tumbled from his grip, along with the clear quartz, crashing to the floor with an air of finality. The lights around the whole city block flickered for a moment as he drew on whatever energy he could to build up his magical store again. Derek felt a brief tug behind his chest again, somewhere in his ribcage, and opened himself up to Stiles’ wandering magic, letting him take what he needed. 

It lasted for a few more seconds before the entire loft went quiet, leaving nothing but Stiles’ harsh breathing. “Something’s coming,” he panted. “It’s unlike anything that we’ve faced before, but we need to be ready because it's _strong_.”


	2. Chpt 2

"Okay, how old?" Stiles heard his dad's voice filter in from the living room. 

He paused for a moment, hand hovering over his half-filled mug of coffee, and tilted his head towards his dad. 

He caught bits and pieces from the other end of the phone.  _ 16-18, no definitive age yet. Still with the M.E. _

"Christ," his dad sounded weary and tired. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Noah came into the kitchen, looking run-down, and Stiles winced. "You okay, dad?" 

The Sheriff forced a smile and nodded, clapping his son on the back of the neck. "Of course." 

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. "A body turned up, 16-18 years old." 

"Yeah, a girl," he explained. He'd given up trying to get Stiles to stop earwigging his conversations years ago. "She's not local." 

As Noah said the words, Stiles got a flashback to his dreamwalks. The girl in them was around the same age, her voice sounded youthful. 

"I need to come with you," he said, voice serious and leaving no room for argument. 

The severity of his tone made Noah recoil. "You know you can't." 

" _ Dad _ ," Stiles begged, his voice urgent and needy, he sounded terrified. 

Noah nodded and squeezed his son’s shoulder in reassurance. "Okay, but you'll have to be quick." 

Stiles frantically bobbed his head and breathed a sigh of relief. Something here didn't seem right, felt too  _ familiar,  _ and he needed to know why. 

  
  
  
  


Noah drove them to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, glancing worriedly over at Stiles every so often. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet the entire ride over, knee bouncing nervously and thumb wedged between his teeth with a far-off look in his eyes. 

When they pulled up outside the hospital, throwing the cruiser into a space near the front doors, Stiles jolted as if he’d been snapped out of a trance. 

“You okay?” Noah asked, head cocked slightly and brow furrowed in concern. 

Stiles didn’t say anything, just climbed out of the car and marched towards the hospital with a single-minded focus. He navigated his way through the halls towards the morgue, keeping his head low and face covered as much as he could. He ducked into the room and b-lined for the newest body, laid out under a white sheet. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists and shook out his body, starting with his hands and ending at his feet, before pulling the sheet back to reveal the body. 

It was the girl from his dreams. 

He drew in a sharp breath and tightened his jaw as he took a step closer, hand outstretched towards her head. He let his eyelids flutter shut and breathed deep, trying to keep his heart slow and steady. 

On an inhale, Stiles projected a link at the Jane Doe and gasped when the bond between them slowly solidified, becoming tangible. He shuddered as he felt around in her thoughts, casting an echo through her to see if she remembered anything from her last moments or if there were any lingering signatures. He was just looking for anything that could help him make sense of his dreams. 

It wasn’t long before he found what he was searching for. 

It wasn’t much. But, it was sinister; darker than anything Stiles had ever felt. The signature was old, like ‘dawn of time _ ’  _ old, and it was  _ furious _ . 

He felt something else, the residual terror of the Jane Doe, and grabbed onto it tight with both hands, unravelling the loop until he found something concrete. A memory. 

  
  


_ It was horrible. She could barely see it in the dark. There were only bright, orange eyes that glowed like the embers of a dying fire, like the deepest part of a flame- the part that burnt the hottest.  _

_ As it drew closer, she felt like all the anger she had ever had the capacity to feel had begun to bubble to the surface. She was consumed by rage, a scream tearing through her throat that scared her as much as it would have scared anyone else.  _

_ “What are you doing to me?!” She bellowed, fear creeping in again and making her mouth taste sour.  _

_ “Teaching you the power of rage.”  _

_ The room grew hot, almost too much for comfort, and she squirmed against the table, trying to get away from the sensation. It felt like she was burning from the inside out and a scream tore from her lips.  _

  
  


Stiles was forcefully dragged away from her- his magic retreating back into his core, thrumming unhappily- and he staggered backwards against the table behind him, glad that there wasn’t a body on it. He gripped onto the metal edge with his free hand, knuckles turning white. 

“Shit,” his voice wobbled as he spoke, unsteady and weak- a dramatic parallel of how he felt. 

His whole body shook, every muscle quivering with the force of his emotions, and found himself biting back a sob. He felt  _ terrified.  _

Although, he couldn’t tell if the fear was his own or her’s, but it coiled deep in his chest, forcing his heart rate up a notch and knotting up his stomach. He felt it in his fingers, the buzzing of adrenaline, his fight-or-flight kicking in. But, right now, he was just frozen with his feet anchored to the floor and head getting dizzy.

He didn’t know anything beyond the lingering anger, fear and death. It was all so  _ dark _ , so hopeless and helpless. 

The lights above his head flickered and crackled, the small desk lamp bursting, shooting sparks across the room. Stiles barely flinched as the sparks danced across his skin, making his hair stand on end and his core light up. 

He felt restless, trapped. Like the walls were closing in and there was nothing that he could do to stop them. 

“-les?” 

Someone was calling his name. There was a hand on his shoulder. A familiar presence by his side. 

His dad. 

“That’s it,” Noah soothed, coaxing Stiles away from his thoughts and back into the present. “You’re safe, you’re okay.” 

“Dad,” Stiles croaked out, voice scratchy and hoarse. He must’ve been screaming- he hadn’t even realised. 

“I’m here, you’re okay,” his dad replied, holding tight onto Stiles’ shoulder, the sensation of it grounding him even further. “It’s okay.” 

“Something bad is coming, dad,” tears gathered in Stiles’ eyes as he spoke, fear and apprehension bleeding into his voice. “It’s bad and I’m  _ scared  _ because I  _ don’t know what it is _ .” 

“I know,” the Sheriff carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair in an attempt to calm him and it was thankfully working. “I know, but you’ll figure it out. You always do.” 

“But, what if I don’t?” Stiles sounded small, much younger than he was, and Noah’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, wanting nothing more than to protect his son. 

“If anyone can,” Noah sounded a lot more confident than he felt, “then it’s you.” 

Stiles nodded and tried his best to believe his father but there was this niggling doubt at the back of his mind. He was strong and smart, but was he strong enough and smart enough to beat this? To protect the Pack? 

  
  
  
  


The girl from the morgue, from his dreams, sat at the back of his mind for the next few days, stealing away his sleep. The idea of closing his eyes and having another dream- to have another body turn up- petrified him. So, the obvious solution was to just not sleep. 

It left him distracted and distant- even more so than usual- not even quipping back at Coach Finstock’s jabs. The man had pulled him aside after class to ask after him. 

Stiles had told him that it was girl trouble. 

It wasn’t quite the truth, but he couldn’t exactly say:  _ hey, coach, i haven’t slept in three days because i’m scared about dreaming about spooky things with orange eyes and dead girls.  _

He doubted it would go down well and he would likely end up locked up in a psych ward. 

Luckily, Coach had accepted the half-baked excuse, giving him a sly look and a pat on the shoulder before sending him on his way. 

But, Stiles still found himself with his thoughts occupied by the Jane Doe and the dark signature that straggled around her. It was so familiar, something about the situations, the signature. It was like Stiles had come across it before, but forgotten where. Like he was walking down a well-known street, but somehow didn’t know the name of it. 

It was frustrating and scary and confusing. Stiles was trying his best to make sense of it in his head, trying to dig through his memories for something,  _ anything _ , that might lead him in the right direction. 

It was only when he rammed into a solid chest after turning a corner that Stiles shook from his trance. 

Quick reflexes were the only thing that kept him from falling on his ass. A hand curled around his wrist and an arm wormed its way around his waist, cradling him against a warm chest.

“Derek,” Stiles knew who it was, just from the wall of muscle that he’d collided with, but the creaking of his leather jacket helped too. “No, I don’t know where Scott or Isaac are.” 

“I’m not here for them,” the Alpha huffed out and pulled him that bit closer, tightened his grip on Stiles’ wrist. 

Stiles did his best to ignore the thrill that went through him at the minute action.

“Scott says you’ve been acting weird, why?” If there was one thing that Stiles could count on Derek for, it was a lack of pussy-footing around. He was always very succinct, straight to the point. 

“I’m always weird,” the warlock quipped back, albeit weakly, but it was a good try. 

_ A for Effort, Stilinski.  _

Derek didn’t seem impressed, just gave him the infamous Eyebrows, and Stiles shrugged, worming his way out of Derek’s grip- no matter how much he wanted to stay close and relish in the warmth and safety that he radiated. 

“It’s the dreams,” he explained, sensing that there was no way he could talk his way out of this conversation with Derek. “The star of the show turned up at the morgue,” Derek gave an expectant look and Stiles rolled his eyes. “So, I dug around in her brain for a bit, to see if there was anything that could help me make sense of this, and all I got was fear and anger and darkness. Whatever it was that killed her, it wasn’t nice. It’s strong and powerful, a lot more powerful than anything I’ve ever encountered. Something about it seems familiar.” 

Derek frowned and cocked his head in confusion. Stiles bit back the dog joke that settled on the tip of his tongue. 

“Like deja vu?” 

The warlock shook his head, sighing heavily, and tugged a hand through his hair. “No, like I  _ know  _ something, but I can’t access the information.” 

Derek hummed thoughtfully, ever the expressive wolf, and crossed his arms over his chest as he shrugged. “So, talk to Deaton.” 

Stiles blinked rapidly and pursed his lips. “I’m sorry- what?” 

He hoped that the Alpha would’ve been able to offer more than  _ talk to Deaton _ , like Stiles wasn’t planning to do that already. 

“Deaton, he knows more than I do,” Derek said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Thanks for the help,” Stiles rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, hunching his shoulders as he stomped away from Derek. Before he could get too far, there was a hand around his wrist again and he tore away from the grip, batting the Alpha’s hand away. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, breathing deeply as if it was such a hardship to apologise. It was Stiles’ turn to cross his arms over his chest. “Are you okay?” 

“No, Derek, I’m not,” he huffed out. “I’m scared- no petrified- and confused. This is the worst feeling in the world and  _ no one  _ is helping me! I haven’t slept in the past three days because I’ve been scared about having another dream and another body turning up and I can’t do this anymore! I’m running on coffee and fumes and I’m exhausted.”

Derek didn’t say anything, just grabbed his wrist and dragged him out the front doors to the Camaro. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles said, voice flat and emotionless, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He didn’t even have the energy to fight back. 

“Taking you to the loft.” 

The warlock narrowed his eyes at Derek’s back. “Why?” 

Derek opened the passenger door and shoved Stiles into the seat, ignoring his squawk of protest. He spoke again when he climbed into the driver’s side. “You need to sleep.” 

“I can do that at home,” he hissed. Derek glared at him, arching an Eyebrow at him in an unspoken challenge. The warlock held his hands up in defense. “Point taken.” 

The ride to the loft was quiet, aside from Stiles drumming his fingers against his thighs, and the Alpha poked his shoulder when they pulled up outside. Stiles titled his chin upwards in acknowledgement and left his rucksack in the footwell, knowing Derek would drive him back home later. 

“What makes you so certain I’m gonna be any more inclined to sleep here than I am at home?” Stiles asked as they pushed into the loft. 

They kicked their shoes off at the front door and hung their coats up on the hooks nearby before Stiles moved further into the empty space. 

“I’m here.” 

The warlock rolled his eyes. “I’m not a wolf, your Alpha bullshit doesn’t work on me.” 

Derek shrugged and pointed towards the stairs. “Just, go take a nap.” 

Stiles straightened up and stamped his foot, lifting his hand in a mock-salute. “Sir, yes sir! Right away, sir.” 

“Shut up and get upstairs,” the Alpha growled, “or I’ll knock you out myself.” 

Stiles held his hands up in defense and brushed past the sourwolf, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the floor above. He found Derek’s bedroom pretty easily and shoved inside the room, slipping out of his jeans to get more comfortable. 

He launched himself onto the bed, scrambling under the covers, and curled up into a tight ball. He rested his head on one pillow and pulled the second pillow against his chest, tucking it under his chin as his eyes tracked the cracks in the wall opposite. 

Stiles really wished that Derek would let him use some green magic on the loft, get the place fixed up well and good. They could get a big plant for the main room downstairs, like a weeping fig or something similar. Maybe he could fiddle around with the genetics of an orange tree to get it to grow indoors and in all climates. 

As he pondered on the plausibility of that particular thought, Stiles found his eyes beginning to close and his thoughts drifted away, leaving only peaceful darkness. 

When Stiles awoke again, it was dark outside, but there was a soft glow coming from somewhere within the room. He blinked his eyes open and turned onto his back, scanning the room quickly. 

He soon found the source of the light: Derek was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, propped up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and head tipped back. There was an open book in his lap-  _ Dream Magic by Laureli Porter-  _ and the warlock’s heart jolted at the thought that Derek had been reading a book to better understand his situation. 

“Derek,” he hissed into the quiet of the room and the Alpha jolted awake, gaze zeroing in on Stiles in seconds.

“Are you okay?” He sounded concerned. 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, sourwolf- or should I say sleepy wolf? Having a little nap?” 

“Sorry,” he could’ve sworn that Derek blushed, but he turned his head away before he could get a proper look. “You’ve been asleep for 17 hours-" 

Stiles cut him off with a noise similar to a strangled goose. "Wait,  _ 17 hours?! _ " 

"Don't panic," the Alpha hissed. "I've already texted your dad to let him know where you are. I promised to look after you." 

“Aw,” he cooed, covering up his genuine happiness and gratitude with a snarky comment, “did you stay awake for me? Big, bad Alpha Hale wanted to protect me?” 

Derek scowled at him and hit him with a pillow, hard. “I’m starting to regret that decision, asshat,” he growled. 

“Ooh, even more of a sourwolf without sleep,” Stiles teased and rolled his eyes when Derek growled at him. “Shut up, growling at me. You don’t scare me.” 

Derek bared his teeth at him, eyes flashing red for a brief moment, and the warlock mimicked the action, eyes glowing white-blue. The Alpha smirked and retracted his teeth, motioning for Stiles to do the same. Soon, the glow of his eyes were replaced by the amber that he was so used to. 

Stiles patted the bed next to him and scooted over slightly as he did, rolling his eyes when Derek cocked his head in confusion. “Get in. Sitting on the floor for god knows how long has done zero help to your back, so come lay down and sleep for a bit. I’ll stick to my side if you stick to yours.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, but rose to his feet and joined Stiles on the bed after kicking his jeans off. They settled down next to each other and Derek repressed the urge to reach out for Stiles. It felt  _ right _ to have him in his bed and he refused to think about what that meant, instead letting the sound of the warlock’s heart lull him to sleep.


	3. Chpt 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! 
> 
> Next chapter written and poated- im looking to post every week. But, it might be late sometimes. 
> 
> Anyways! Enjoy and happy reading!

When they woke up again, Derek was plastered against Stiles’ back, arms locked tight around his waist and legs tangled together. 

Stiles relished in the warmth and safety of the alpha's arms for a second before he realised:  _ Derek was cuddling him.  _

He tried to stay as still as possible, controlling his breathing and heart rate to make sure that he didn't wake Derek. 

"I know that you're awake," the alpha growled in his ear and Stiles resolutely ignored the spike of arousal that thrummed through his abdomen. 

"Morning," Stiles whispered into the quiet of the room. Derek just grunted in reply, ever the non-verbal sourwolf. "Do you want-" 

Derek cut him off before he could say anything else. "No." 

He flipped onto his back, dislodging Derek's limbs from around him. Stiles bit back a whine at the loss of contact, still resolutely ignoring the thrum of need. He was sure that Derek could smell it. 

"But, you don't feel-" 

"No." 

The warlock quirked an eyebrow at him. "So, you secretly love to cuddle?" 

Derek scowled at him. "No." 

He grinned, wide and mischievous. "Admit it! You're a closet cuddler!" 

"Stiles," Derek growled, "shut up." 

The warlock shoved his shoulder. "Don't be like that," he snorted. "Although, we did have an agreement to stay to our own sides. What happened there?" 

Derek scowled at him again and Stiles was starting to wonder if he had any other facial expressions. He didn't give him an answer though, just rolled out of the bed, tugging his shirt over his head. 

Stiles' mouth watered at the shifting planes of muscle in the alpha's back and had the brief thought that perhaps he was doing it on purpose. But, that thought was quickly discarded because Derek didn't  _ know _ . 

Stiles' feelings were a closely guarded secret. The only person that knew was Lydia, but that didn't count because she was Lydia and she had a near-supernatural ability to sense people's emotions. 

Stiles wasn't sure when it happened, or even how, but one day he was sitting there, staring at Derek for a second too long and realising that:  _ I'm in love with this grumpy wolf _ . 

It wasn't necessarily a surprise to him because Stiles had always known about his bisexuality and Derek was  _ Derek _ . 

It was from that moment on that Stiles just found himself falling further and further, deeper and deeper, until he saw no plausible way out. He just hoped that one day, Derek would catch him. 

"-LES!" 

Whilst trapped inside his Derek-fueled thoughts, the man himself had been trying to talk to Stiles, but obviously getting no reply. 

The warlock blinked back into reality and shook his head to dispel any last, unwanted thoughts. He cocked his head when the alpha gave him a concerned look.

"Where'd you go?" 

Stiles smiled softly at the display of worry, Derek  _ did  _ have a heart. "I'm here," he promised. 

"I called Deaton whilst you were daydreaming," Stiles frowned at him. "Don't give me that look. Get dressed," the alpha threw his jeans at him and Stiles yelped when the buckle of his belt hit his eyebrow. 

"Did you never get taught manners, or does the lack of them come with being a werewolf?" Stiles hissed and rolled out of bed, fighting with his gangly limbs to get them into the denim confines. 

He'd filled out since he was sixteen- he had to, what with running around after a pack of werewolves- and he was quite happy with the body that he had now. It was quite amusing watching people walk into lockers and doorways when he came back after the summer. 

Though, the one person that he wanted to notice, never did. Obviously, he was doomed to a lifetime of falling in love with people that were  _ way  _ out of his league. 

Derek was talking again and Stiles zeroed in on his voice, focusing on that instead of his mental pity party.

"Deaton says that he might have something that can help you," Derek said and shrugged on his leather jacket, the material creaking as he did. 

" _ Might  _ doesn't sound too hopeful," the warlock retorted and rolled his eyes when Derek glared at him. 

"It's Deaton, Stiles, if he doesn't have something, then he'll know someone who does," the alpha launched his shoes at him and Stiles shrieked, barely moving out of the way in time. 

The warlock k glared at him, but his expression softened when he saw the small, barely-there smile on Derek's lips. 

"Is that a smile?!" Stiles teased. "Is  _ the  _ Derek Hale smiling? Pinch me, I've gotta be dreaming." 

Derek growled at him. "I hate you." 

"No, you don't," he shot back. 

"Shut up or I'll-" 

The warlock cut him off. "Tear my throat out with your teeth, I know," he rolled his eyes, but ducked his head to hide the smile that grew on his lips. He ignored it when Derek did the same. 

  
  
  
  


As they pulled up outside the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, Stiles reached for his rucksack, left in the footwell from the previous day. 

"Well, thank you for letting me catch up on some much needed zees, but I have a Deaton to steal information from," he began, but paused when Derek got out of the car too. "What are you doing?" 

"I promised your dad to look out for you," the alpha said, as if that were the only explanation that Stiles needed. He rolled his eyes when Stiles gave him an expectant look, silently asking him to elaborate. 

"That doesn't end until I get you back to your house, safe and in one piece," he continued. 

"That's hard for you though, right?" Stiles teased, eyes ablaze with mischief. "What with constantly wanting to tear my throat out. I mean, honestly, you should get that checked out, you've got issues." 

"Shut up, Stiles," it was supposed to be a short, snappy comment. But, Stiles heard the fond undertone and his heart swelled until it felt fit to burst. 

Inside the clinic, Deaton greeted them with a warm smile and guided them into the examination room, sliding a book across the table to Stiles and Derek. The warlock picked it up, dragging his finger across the old, frayed cover; the words on it barely legible.

_ Daemonologie, Divided into Three Books: Written by James Rollock _ . 

The language itself was a clear indication of its age, but as Stiles thumbed through the pages it was shown there too in the tattered, dusty, yellowness. He could feel the lasting energy from its previous owners, the love and care with which it was handled echoing through the ages straight to Stiles. 

He skimmed through the first few pages and looked up at Deaton, hand splayed across the cover protectively. He knew this book needed to be looked after- like Roscoe, his jeep- and he would give it some much needed TLC. “What is it?”

“A dissertation by a lesser-known philosopher in 1599,” Deaton explained, “he wanted to explain contemporary necromancy and the historical relationships between various uses of divination.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “How will this help me?” 

Deaton gave him an unimpressed look. “The second book covers most things regarding sorcery and witchcraft; in particular, the appearance of the devil and his army. Something in that section may help. Though, there’s not much that can be done with just one body. As horrible as it sounds, you need to wait until another victim turns up, to see if there are any similarities between wounds or signatures.” 

Stiles sighed deeply and dragged a hand through his hair. “I know, I know.” 

Even though he knew that another innocent life would be lost before he could do anything worthwhile, having something helpful in his arsenal made him feel that little bit better. 

“Thank you,” Stiles wasn’t sure what else to say, he was certain that Derek had told him everything, so there wasn’t much more that he  _ could  _ say. 

“You’re welcome,” Deaton got a look behind his eye, like a lightbulb had lit up in his brain, and turned on his heel to rummage through his cabinets. He turned back with a small bottle that had a pipette dropper in the top, the liquid inside was purring with power and Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine, fingers twitching at his side with the need to know what was inside. 

“It’s lavender and jasmine, fused with a little something extra,” Deaton explained. “I had an old contact make it for me months ago, just in case. It should help you sleep better.” 

Stiles plucked the bottle from Deaton’s fingers and stuffed it into his bag along with the book, muttering another thank you to him before turning and walking out of the door. He was quiet as they got back in the car, unsure what to say or how to feel, and the alpha kept casting Stiles worried looks when he thought he wasn’t watching. 

Even though he’d spent nearly 24 hours sleeping, he was so tired. He hoped that Deaton’s weird concoction would help as well as Deaton claimed it would. 

Derek threw the Camaro into park behind Noah’s cruiser, but wrapped his fingers around the warlock’s wrist before he could leave. “Listen, if you need anything-” 

Stiles cut him off by squeezing his wrist in return. “I know, don’t give yourself a hemorrhage.” 

Derek’s eyes flashed red for a brief moment and he grinned when Stiles returned the sentiment, eyes glowing white-blue. “Get out of my car.” 

Stiles scrambled for the door handle- in a coordination of chaotic energy and gangly limbs- and ducked his head back into the car, lips parted to say something but Derek stopped him. 

“Don’t. Shut up, go home,” Derek hissed and the warlock rolled his eyes, once again ignoring the fondness in the alpha’s tone. He also tried to ignore the fact that the Camaro didn’t pull away until he was safely inside the house. 

“Stiles?!” Noah yelled as soon as he heard the front door shut. “That you?!” 

“Yeah, dad!” Stiles called back, dropping his bag by the floor and kicking off his shoes before he moved into the living room. 

“How are you, son?” Noah questioned, tilting his head back to look at Stiles over the back of the sofa. 

Stiles dropped down next to him, sitting facing him with his back against the armrest. “I’m okay.” 

“Have you slept?” 

The warlock smiled, thinking of earlier that morning when he woke up in Derek’s arms. “Yeah, a solid 24 hours- I think that’s a new record for me.” 

The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot. You hungry?” 

“Starving,” Stiles frantically nodded. “Werewolves, apparently, are the worst hosts. Derek didn’t feed me.” 

Noah got a knowing look in his eyes. “I’m sure he would’ve if you’d asked.” 

“I know,” Stiles lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “We had other things to be worried about.” 

Noah didn’t say anything in response, just got out of his seat and headed to the kitchen. Before he could get anywhere, his phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. 

“Stilinski,” he barked into the receiver and Stiles heard the distinctive sound of  _ body  _ before his dad let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he hung up the phone and turned back to his son. “I’m sorry, bud, duty calls.” 

“It’s okay,” Stiles gave him a warm smile. “I’ll order in.” 

The Sheriff nodded and grabbed his coat from the rack by the door. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can. Lock the door when you go to bed, okay?” 

Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wouldn’t be going to bed any time soon, just smiled and shoo-ed him out the door. “Justice waits for no man, Sheriff! Get out there and keep our city safe.” 

Noah rolled his eyes at his son’s antics, but shut the door behind him, the click ringing through the house with an air of finality. Stiles turned the TV up, hating how quiet the house was, and fished the book that Deaton had given him out of his bag. 

He ran his fingers across the title page again, just listening to the whispers of eras long since past, and carefully opened the book, cradling the front cover as he did. He flipped past the inside title page, wincing at the creak of protest that the page gave, and whispered a soft apology to it. 

The contents page greeted him next, covered with elegant 16th-century lettering. It was gorgeous, but ragged and a little moldy. Stiles traced the lettering with his fingers as he read through the words. He wasn’t necessarily looking for anything, Deaton was right, one body wasn’t enough for any kind of substantial research. So, for now, Stiles was just reading for fun. But, regardless, a particular chapter jumped out at him: 

  
  


  1. _the nature of a beshrew_



  
  


Beshrew was the Old English word for Curse and Stiles was certainly interested to see what they thought about the nature of magic during the 1500s, so he flipped to the fourth chapter and began to read.

  
  


_ a beshrew, as we wot it, comes 'i many various forms: mental and emotional breakdowns, chronic illnesses, miscarriages, marriage and family problems, financial difficulties, headaches or e'en being clumsy and accident prone.  _

  
  


That was half-true. But, there was a lot more to it than that, sometimes it could be quite gnarly- if the witch casting it was particularly vexed. That aside, curses affected any person, place or object and not necessarily in the ways that were described in Deaton’s book. 

  
  


_ it is quoth that if these curses are not broken, they are passed down from generation to generation indefinitely.  _

  
  


That one definitely was true. Stiles knew of a few generational curses in Beacon Hills. However, most were found in Salem and New Orleans, a punishment cast over a family with a magic user’s dying breath- their last hurrah. 

  
  


_ although, a beshrew is rooted 'i biblical belief and- whilst satan and demons are real and they are working against believers- no beshrew is attributed to satan anywhere 'i the bible. Hence there is, 'i fact, no such thing as a satanic or demonic beshrew. _

  
  


That was entirely wrong. Yes, there were such things as  _ divine curses,  _ and  _ where there is heaven, there must be hell _ , so demonic curses definitely existed, people just chose to ignore them. Or, more accurately, never lasted long enough to put the pieces together. If there was something more gnarly than a curse from a pissed off witch, it was a curse from a pissed off demon. 

  
  


_ argal, a beshrew of god is the only instance 'i which a person may be jinxed. Yet e'en then it is not a beshrew as an evil spell, yet divine judgement and shall be submitted to and repented under. _

  
  


Clearly incorrect, witches and warlocks existed and quite frequently cursed people that got on their bad side- especially back in the 16th century. But, obviously, James Rollock, the author of this wonderful piece of work, had never been exposed to sorcery and its vengeful qualities, thus leading him to be blissfully ignorant. 

Stiles didn’t get the chance to read any more because his dad walked through the front door, smile weary and eyes sad. He hated the negative energy surrounding his dad at that moment. 

"Dad?" He whispered, carefully approaching Noah as he reached for the whiskey bottle beneath the sink. "Are you okay?" 

"Another body," he didn't bother trying to keep it secret, Stiles would find out one way or another. "Younger this time. Barely thirteen." 

"Dad," Stiles said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry." 

The Sheriff shrugged and poured himself three fingers of whiskey into a glass. "I just wish there was something we could do." 

Stiles sighed heavily and gave his dad a soft smile. "Don't drink your feelings away," he warned, "it's not good for you."

Noah snorted softly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You said the same thing to me when your mom died," his voice was thick with emotion. "You always were a smart kid," as he walked past, he lifted a hand up and ruffled Stiles' hair. "I'm going to bed." 

Stiles didn't have the heart to tell him that he hadn't eaten. 

Later that evening, or more like early morning, Stiles snuck out of his bedroom window and drove the jeep-which had been parked there all day as Scott took him to school that morning- to the hospital. 

Luckily, Melissa was working that evening and she gave him five minutes to do what he needed, promising to keep anyone out of the morgue until he left. Stiles thanked her with a tight hug and scurried off towards the door. 

Once inside, it wasn't hard to find what he needed. She was so  _ young.  _ The warlock could feel the last dregs of her juvenile energy spiralling through the air. It made his heart pang with a deep-seated sadness, as it always did when an innocent, young life was taken. But, beneath that misery was anger; seething hatred and a desire to enact revenge. 

Stiles brushed a displaced hair behind her ear before placing a sorrowful hand on her forehead, using his heartache to ground him to the present. The echo that he sent through her was softer than what he would normally use. 

The rebound that he got was the exact same as the first girl. Pure, unbridled rage. Dark and sinister. Old. It was that same familiar signature, the one that Stiles  _ knew _ , but also didn't know. 

The warlock jerked his hand back when his magic ghosted over the edge of a memory- her last memory- deciding that he very much didn't need to see that; he wanted to sleep some time soon and seeing that would make sure that he  _ didn't.  _

With a heavy heart and a brain full of confusion, Stiles exited the hospital and got back in his car, punching the wheel a few times in frustration, fighting back tears as he slammed the jeep into gear. 

Part of him wished that he hadn't come to look, but a larger, more logical part knew that it was the best thing to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any tags that I need to add, please let me know!   
> Other than that, I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Happy Reading!!


End file.
